


and i remember us now

by thedeathofhyacinth



Series: Harry Styles/Michael Clifford [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Hand Job, I'm so whipped for harry/michael, M/M, Sex Toys, fuck buddies, michael has the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2375522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeathofhyacinth/pseuds/thedeathofhyacinth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael hasn't seen Harry since the Brits and he feels homeless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i remember us now

**Author's Note:**

> Liz (toldfaithful on tumblr) is my inspiration for all things Harry/Michael and is responsible for this. Blame her. 
> 
> On tumblr [](http://femkinkmichael.tumblr.com/post/98606098817/tonight-is-just-the-night-for-all-kinds-of-new>here!</a>)

It's a nervous habit for Michael to run his hands over his fringe- has been since he decided to grow it out when he was younger. Most of the time, he doesn't even realise he's doing it, which is why he's not surprised when Calum bats at his hand, _tsk_ ing. 

"Your split ends are going to break if you're not careful," Calum chides, soft hand coming to smooth down the back of Michael's hair. "Besides, you look _fine_ , don't worry." 

Calum must have ESP or something- it's like he can sniff out a secret crush. It's not an incredibly useful gift... more like incredibly annoying. And it's embarrassing but sweet at the same time. As much as the two of them share banter, Calum would never steer Michael wrong. They've been friends too long for that kind of shit. 

He grumbles out a "my ends aren't _that_ dead" even though they totally are, but he's not ready to go short again. Actually, he's contemplating a proper mullet. Louis' close to one so maybe Harry's into that? The thought has crossed his mind before. 

And Michael's had trysts before- too many to admit without some embarrassment. [Most being with famous people. It's kind of his _thing_.] But nothing quite like the situation he's about to head into. He's memorised the texts, the amount of times the word "fuck" is used. He's saved the naughty pictures, gotten himself off to them God-knows how many times, quiet and sneaky in the hotel rooms. 

His crowning achievement was being brave enough to film himself jerkin' it and actually sending it. 

Harry Styles makes him feel attractive and wanted and he's willfully addicted to it. And him. 

The air in the cabin of the plane suddenly feels heavier than usual. He's sweating. Nervous. His bandmates are completely oblivious to his stress; Ashton busy texting who he assumes is Niall, Luke snoring softly against the window. Only Calum had acknowledged him, but had immediately gone back to his "flight playlist". [Probably for the best- he'd rather _not_ have Calum puke on him than whinge about how anxious he is.] 

So Michael is left with his thoughts of Harry. Of course, he'd kept up with pap photos and interviews, had texted off and on in the months since they've seen one another. Harry had assured him that he "could hardly wait" to see him, but Michael's always been a sucker for pretty words with insincere meanings. 

Besides, it's not as if they're exclusive. Or anything even remotely close. Harry's never minded that sometimes, Michael takes Luke to bed [in fact, he asked for pictures]; actually congratulated him on blowing Jack Barakat. And Michael did the same when Harry recounted a threesome with the Jenner girls. They're fuck buddies. That's it. 

Well... except for the butterflies that are currently occupying Michael's stomach. He's always gotten attached to people easily, fallen hard. So maybe he has Actual Feelings for Harry? But really, who doesn't? Harry is magnetic. 

So _maybe_ he's incredibly nervous to see Harry, yeah. And _maybe_ he's also really excited to see [read: run his tongue over] Harry's new hip tattoos, yeah. And _maybe_ he's run through so many situations in his head of what's going to happen when they're finally in the same room as one another. 

Harry being blown away by how hot and how much older Michael's gotten since they last saw one another [he's legal now, fuck yes!]. Harry roughly taking him to the nearest alley/bathroom/table and fucking his brains out because of said hotness. Or spending the entire tour attached to one another with Harry asking Michael to be his _proper_ boyfriend at the last show. 

He really isn't particular. 

The plane shudders and Michael grips the armrest. [Landing is easily the worst part of the ride, the way his stomach flips and flops and he feels so floaty. It's awful.] Calum smiles at him as the seatbelt warning lights up and the pilot announces that they'll be landing soon. Landing is always a Big Deal, but this plane ride wasn't made public so Michael thinks he's going to get by looking jetlagged and tired [at least he still has on his BBMAS outfit, which makes him look a fraction more socially presentable]. But he's learned never to doubt the tenacity of the 5SOSFam. 

Rightfully so- they're mobbed almost immediately. They stop and take pictures and sign posters, but Michael knows he looks distant and horrible. His mind is only concentrated on being in the same city as Harry Styles. [Truthfully, that's been the only thing on his mind for a while.] 

As they pile into the shuttle to the hotel, he gets a text. Speak of the devil... 

**'we're at the fitzwilliam. i'm top floor. last door on the right. there's a private lift in the underground car park.'**

It's short- to the point. There's a whirlwind inside Michael's mind. Luckily, Ashton and Luke are already snuggled together on one bed, half asleep. Calum's washing his face, eyes glued on Michael as he freshens up. It only makes him more nervous and he sidles up to his bandmate. 

"'M gonna go out," Michael says, pointedly avoiding Calum's eyes as he tugs on his fringe. 

"Be careful." It comes out like a warning. "Call me when you're on your way back, okay?" 

But if Michael has his way, he won't be back tonight. He still looks on-point from the BBMAS, hair styled and leather jacket on, cologne still lingering. He can imagine Harry massaging his sore muscles as they relax in a hot tub. And he practically purrs at the thought. 

"I'll text you," Michael assures, trying to soothe the situation. Calum was encouraging him on the plane, but something's changed. Calum almost looks hurt. "Promise." 

"Have fun. Be careful." 

Michael tries not to think about the disappointed tone Calum had used as he makes his way through the city. It's dark, so late that the only people on the streets are drunk kids who cackle at his outfit. 

The Fitzwilliam Hotel isn't hard to find- it's huge. A five-star luxury that Michael's only getting used to [even though they're still only buying out four rooms at max instead of the top three _floors_ ]. The car park is filled with BMWs and Porsches and Michael even sees a Ferrari. Fuck. 

"Hello, Mr Clifford," the guard greets, pressing the button on the private lift. Michael thanks him as the doors open and he steps inside. 

On the ride up, his nerves get the best of him. Deep breaths don't help, only making him hyper aware of how fast his heart is beating. It feels like it's been an eternity since he's seen Harry. [At least properly seen him. He doesn't count the blowjob in the bathroom at the Brits.] 

As he stands outside of the hotel room, he takes one last deep breath and knocks. 

There's a small rustling on the other side of the door, then a rush of air before he's being kissed. 

Harry's so gentle, always holds him like a precious gem, but he's also got that silent dominant aura. You have no choice but to pay attention to Harry Styles when he talks. Or when he has his hands tangled in your hair. 

"Fuck," Harry gasps as they part. He leans his forehead onto Michael's, smiling. "I've missed you." 

"M'too," Michael mumbles, closing his eyes and taking in the feel of Harry's hands on him. Harry's hands are big, strong, can cover his own without even trying. He feels protected, even with those hands around his neck or curled inside of him. 

Harry leads him inside the hotel room, tells him he's ordered room service and to help himself. The pasta and chocolate cake look great, no doubt, but Harry strewn aross the bed looks even better. Michael can barely keep his eyes away. The leaves along Harry's pelvic lines peep out teasingly from the loose shorts he has on- makes it difficult to do anything but rake his eyes over Harry's smooth torso, golden from exploring South America. 

"You _can_ sit down, you know," Harry laughs, biting into a red velvet cupcake. The emphasis on his mouth makes Michael's own go dry as he climbs into the bed. Harry smirks, dipping a finger into the cream cheese icing and holding it out for Michael. 

He sucks on Harry's finger, greedy. Harry's skin is perfectly clean when he gets done and he laps at his lips. 

Harry crawls over him, pinning him to the soft bedspread, popping the last little bite of red velvet in his mouth. "D'you know how much of a tease you are?" 

"Learned from the best," Michael grins, fondly recalling all the times Harry had done the same to him last summer. Before Michael outright questioned him about all the subtle touches, why Harry concentrated on him specifically. Harry teased him worse than Jessica had. It was the least he could do to return the favour. 

Harry mumbles out a "little shit", before trailing his lips along Michael's jawline. It feels like it's been so long since Harry's touched him and Michael mewls, writhes underneath him. Harry is sensual in his touches, explores almost lazily. Michael gets jealous of the girls that get to sleep with him- how many times they probably come. [Though there _was_ that one time Harry made fun of Michael's teenage hormones because he was able to come twice in one night.] 

Michael's already half-hard when Harry gropes him over his pants, lets out a strangled moan because Harry's hands are _so warm._ And his lips are so tender against his collarbones, nudging the leather of his vest aside. 

"Y'look good like this, emo," Harry playfully mumbles, looking up at Michael to see his reaction. There's a hint of a smirk on his lips- the one he always has when he's so pleased with himself he can barely stand it. 

"Punk rock," Michael assures, bucking his hips against Harry's hand. They share a laugh before Harry tugs at Michael's belt- a sign that Michael needs to rid himself of his jeans ASAP. 

Michael's not like Harry and Calum- being naked makes him uncomfortable. Once his pants are gone and he's left in his boxer-briefs, he feels awkward and exposed and he pulls his shirt down to try and hide his scrawny, pale thighs. 

But Harry takes his time hungrily gazing Michael. "Look how toned you are! And you've taken such good care of your pretty skin." 

The comliments are geniune and make Michael blush. Something about the way Harry says them are personal, sexy in that regard. It's no suprise that practically everyone swoons at his feet. 

"I'm liking the hair," Michael returns the compliment as he threads his fingers in Harry's messy mane. His grip tightens and Harry's eyes slip shut. He's definitely not forgotten how much Harry enjoys a little hair play. "Makes it easier to pull." 

Harry's answer to that is to free Michael's cock from his underpants, grinning as it swells in his palm. He's so _gentle_ as he strokes, fingertips dancing along Michael's shaft before he squeezes just under the head. "Y'know," he says as he regards Michael's dick, "a fan once gave me a small golden crown and I had _no_ idea why she did it until I Googled it and realised it was a _cock crown._ Of all things!" 

Michael's trying hard to pay attention to what Harry's saying, really. [Even though he has no idea why he's babbling and not blowing.] But the feeling of Harry's hands _finally_ being on him is too distracting. His hands are already fisted in the sheets beside him, eyes closed in bliss. 

"And I was thinking that the crown would look _wonderful_ right about here," Harry taps his fingers against the sensitive frenulum of Michael's dick. 

Before Michael can even moan, Harry's across the room, rummaging through his toiletry bag. When he sits back on the bed, he's got the little crown in his hand, sure enough. It looks sharp on the top and Michael has fleeting second thoughts. 

"You're gonna have to lose it for a second," Harry laughs, twirling the crown on his fingers. Not a problem, really, since just the thought of that contraption spearing his cock has him at half mast. 

Michael wills himself to stay still [and actually closes his eyes] as Harry slips the crown on and pumps his cock. Of course, he's quick to get hard again, eyes still closed as Harry hums his approval. 

"Look at yourself," Harry requests, breathless, flicking his fingernail over the head of Michael's dick. 

And, yeah, the top part of it is digging into him a little bit, but it's nowhere near as bad as what Michael had imagined. It feels different than a regular cock ring, makes his head go dark, swollen to a pretty shade of crimson. His shaft isn't effected as much, the veins no where as pronounced as when he has a regular cock ring on. But it's still _quite the sight_ , especially with Harry's fingers wrapped around him. 

Harry nuzzles into his neck, sighing. "'Knew it'd look good on you." 

The head of Michael's cock is _so_ sensitive that he arches off the bed when Harry squeezes it. But it's such a thrill that he can tell it'll be easy for him to come. 

"Watch me touch you," Harry instructs as he presses the tip of the crown into Michael's frenulum. It hurts in the same way getting spanked does and Michael whimpers. He struggles to keep his eyes open as Harry's touches turn soft again. And there's something inherently _hot_ about watching someone touch you, Michael thinks. Having to watch someone touch the most intimate parts of you. It enhances the pleasure and, combined with the cock crown, Michael almost can't stand it. 

Seriously, he thinks whoever invented the damn crown deserves a medal. And he thinks about maybe shaking Anne's and the next time he sees her because _congratulations_ on such a great son. 

Michael's eyes occasionally flick to Harry, who's got this big, dumb smirk on his face. Like he's completely content to stroke Michael forever. It makes Michael's heart race to think of how many people would kill to be in his place and it's _him_ Harry wants. [It's a far cry from escorting a bleeding, high Harry back to hotels like a babysitter.] 

"D'you know how much I've thought about this exact moment?" Harry's voice is so soft, so tender that it makes Michael shiver. "I couldn't even sleep last night." 

Michael's hips stutter as he desperately fucks into Harry's fist. "Same," he manages to huff out. He can't even comprehend words past that- he's too close to his release. 

"Y'gonna come for me, Mikey?" Harry teases, squeezing around the crown. "C'mon, wanna watch you." 

Michael looses it, hands digging bruises into Harry's bicep. He thinks he actually passes out- the pleasure too great to handle. It feels so much better than getting himself off to pictures of Harry. The little gasp Harry lets out as Michael comes makes him twitch and whimper- cock pulsating, draining every bit he has. 

As Michael settles down onto the bed, Harry carefully removes the crown, tongue dragging over it, licking it clean. Michael's completely spent, but watching Harry's dirty grin, the way he laps at his fingers, is almost gearing him up for Round Two. 

And Harry doesn't stop there. Once he's set the crown aside, he kisses his way up Michael's thighs, sucking lovebites around his hips. But the _real_ treat is when Harry licks him clean. His stomach muscles clench under Harry's tongue. Harry's so gentle, takes his time to make sure he doesn't miss anything. 

"You taste good," Harry says before he pecks Michael on the lips and cuddles down beside him. 

Michael laughs, pulling Harry to his chest and peppering kisses into his hair. "Fuck off, Styles." 

Harry yawns, linking his fingers with Michael's. "So glad you're back, emo."


End file.
